


Mercy Upon Us Sinners

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dubiously Consensual Blood Drinking, M/M, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: Bloody Mary gets another chance to plead his case. He's determined to succeed this time."This time I just want to tell you my story. I want you to understand how I became what you see now.""A remorseless killer," Steak says."A lost soul," Mary answers. The church was fond of that phrase and he hated it from their lips, but he can make it his own if he tries. "You're a Food Soul. You should understand. We become what our masters make us."





	Mercy Upon Us Sinners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piinutbutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/gifts).



_I know you think me a monster. But I cannot go back to the church, will not go back to the church, and if you knew what they did in the name of reform you would not—I hope—blame me. You can guess where I am right now, I am certain. If you bring others with you I will flee, and I will have no recourse save the warmth of humans, and you may torture yourself for that as much as you like. If you come alone I will stay, and I will plead my case for you and you only._

_I hope to speak with you soon._

Bloody Mary can recall every word of the letter; he read it over so many times before he sent it on its way. He paces through the upper floors of the ruined manor, trying to think of anything but its chill—or worse, the icy burn of holy water poured over his skin. He cannot go back to that, no matter what it takes. And thus here he is, gambling on the goodwill of a Food Soul who believes him a monster.

It's evening when he sees movement on the trail below, someone following the old carriage-tracks up to the manor. Someone who's alone, with swords slung on his hips and tousled hair that nearly _glows_ , so red in the last light of the day. Mary's heart beats faster and his mouth waters. Steak has come for him.

He takes the stairs at a run, imagining he can feel the warmth pulling at him even before the great front door swings open and Steak steps into the entrance hall. Mary is standing on the grand staircase, halfway down, clutching at the bannister. "You came for me!"

Steak glares up at him, horns cocked toward him as if it's a threat. Even his expression is full of heat. "You didn't give me much choice."

"Forgive me my bluntness," Mary says, padding down the last few steps on bare feet, watching the way Steak takes in his appearance: his pale skin, his clothes in tatters, the marks still left from Pretzel's _hospitality_. "I so desperately wanted a chance to explain."

"Going to try again to tell me how my partner is the real villain?" Steak demands.

Mary shakes his head. That was the wrong thing to say, not the way to make Steak listen to him. He knows that now. "That was a mistake," he says. "This time I just want to tell you my story. I want you to understand how I became what you see now."

"A remorseless killer," Steak says.

"A lost soul," Mary answers. The church was fond of that phrase and he hated it from their lips, but he can make it his own if he tries. "You're a Food Soul. You should understand. We become what our masters make us."

Steak looks skeptical but doesn't stop him, so he tells the tale he should have told the first time: how he came into the world at the wish of a master attendant who needed no protector, no hero, but only a predator to feed her desires. How those moments on the hunt when he could feel human warmth were the only relief he ever felt from the painful chill of his lonely existence. How he was forced to make his first kill, and how blood sustained him as nothing else can.

He speaks of his lack of choice, and of his desperation, and _that_ seems to breach Steak's defenses where no other appeal has. He drifts closer, speaking of Pretzel's cruelty, the mercilessness of the church, how much he needs the warmth he's been denied.

When he reaches out, Steak catches his wrist, callused palm and strong fingers and so _warm_. "Why tell me all this? What do you want?"

"I want your help." Mary reaches up with his other hand to wrap around Steak's, the heat soaking into him even through skin. "I want you to understand me."

"Understand you? You're a Food Soul who kills humans."

"I'm a Food Soul who learned how to get along in the world from my Master Attendant, and now she's gone. I have no direction anymore. Just like you."

Steak's other hand is resting on the pommel of one sword, but he hasn't tried to draw it. His expression is wary, conflicted. "It isn't the same thing."

"But isn't it close enough for you to feel compassion?" Mary leans into him, looking up into his face. "To show mercy?" A human would be under his thrall by now. Food Souls are more resilient, but Steak still seems to be wavering.

"I'm not into that flowery wordplay crap," he says. Being so close to him is like standing in front of a bonfire. "Tell me what you really want. Right now."

_I want to bask endlessly in your radiance_ would be true, but it would definitely be that flowery wordplay crap. Mary licks his lips. "I want to taste you. Your warmth." It's so hard to make himself speak plainly. "Your blood."

Steak shudders. His grip tightens on Mary's wrist. But he doesn't pull away, and what he says is, "Would you leave humans alone then?"

"I would rather have you than any human in the world," Mary breathes.

"If you're lying," Steak says, but he doesn't finish the threat. The hand that isn't still holding onto Mary's wrist comes up to undo the clasp of his high collar. "Do it."

His pulse is visible, beating under the fair skin of his throat. Mary can't imagine a more beautiful sight. He presses his lips to the smooth flesh and the heat of it already makes him tremble. He bites, and the brilliant copper of fresh blood floods his mouth, and the glorious feeling of warmth pours into him, rushing through his veins.

Steak's hands clamp down around his upper arms like a pair of scorching manacles, and restraint has never been so welcome. "What are you _doing_ to me?" he demands, but there's no anger in his tone and his voice has a throaty timbre that makes it almost a moan.

Mary can't even speak, clinging to Steak and drinking deep, making soft shaky sounds of gratitude. The frigid desperation that has held him apart from the world ever since his summoning feels like it's finally beginning to truly thaw, if he can only keep this. After a few perfect minutes Steak's grip loosens, not as though he's weakening—and thank every god Mary has profaned for that—but simply as if he feels no need to be so aggressive anymore. 

"No wonder so many of your victims were found with no signs of struggle," he murmurs, as if that's a kind thing to say. One of his hands threads through Mary's hair, more gently than such a brash warrior should ever be able to. "If you can make them feel like this, I bet they forgot all about self-preservation."

The accusation makes worry pierce the pleasure haze, and Mary lets go, though the glorious heat of Steak's blood still calls to him. "I haven't harmed you, have I? You're a powerful Food Soul, I thought for sure—"

" _I'm_ all right," Steak says, his tone growing sharper and more normal again. "Unlike your previous victims."

Mary tries to make himself look contrite. It's probably what Steak wants. "But I won't need them anymore." He reaches up to lay his—cool, but not freezing—hand against Steak's cheek. "I'll have you now, won't I?"

Steak's power is already closing up the bite at his throat. He's a natural defender, accustomed to taking hits so others don't have to. "Maybe," he says gruffly.

Mary takes his hand and smiles. "Thank you." This is enough, or it will be. After all, what _he's_ accustomed to is turning _maybe_ into _yes_.


End file.
